In Somnis Veritas

6

It had been a long and trying week for Severus Snape, and he was looking forward to a quiet Saturday prior to the first Quidditch match of the year the following day.

His morning was pleasant enough – after a few experimental brews, he had settled in his quarters with his latest copy of Potions Monthly, enjoying the peace and quiet. And then...

Knock, knock, knock.

Severus exhaled deeply and ignored it – no doubt one of the other faculty members after one potion or another. If he stayed quiet, they'd soon go away.

A pause.

Had it worked?

Knock, knock, knock.

Severus closed his eyes, furious.

Knock, knock, knock.

Muttering under his breath, he stood up and swept across to the door, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind.

Flinging back the portrait that covered the entrance to his private quarters, Severus found himself having to look downwards to find the culprit.

He was not ready to see Harry Potter standing there.

The boy's eyes were red and puffy, and he had something clutched tightly in his hand.

"Potter? How did you...?" he began, wondering how on earth the little whelp had located his private quarters.

"The portrait pointed me," Potter sniffled, gesturing to a picture of a past potions master of Hogwarts, hanging on the wall just down the corridor from them.

Severus made a mental note to remove the picture later.

"What is it Potter?" he asked impatiently, in no mood for whatever trivialities the child was bringing to his door.

Harry shuffled on the spot, choking back another sob.

Groaning inwardly, Severus moved to one side to let the boy in.

"Come on then, Potter. And be quick about it."

Showing the boy inside, Severus Snape sat back in his arm chair by the fire, and waited for some sort of explanation.

The brat just stood there, rubbing his eyes.

Severus surveyed him. In this setting, the boy looked no more than 8 or 9 years old, and his pathetic snivelling threw serious doubt on whether this could really be the wizarding world's 'Chosen One.'

"Well?" he asked.

No response.

The potion's master swallowed, trying to cling to the last ounces of patience he had inside of him.

"Mr Potter, are you going to tell me who, or what, has reduced you into such a sorry state? What is that in your hand?"

"M...my Defence assignment, sir..." Harry mumbled, holding up the crumpled piece of parchment, which appeared to have been torn in two.

Snape frowned. "Was there a problem with it, Potter?"

"I... I wrote about what I was most afraid of.... J-just like we talked about..." Harry stammered. "And Professor Quirrell called us all to his office today to collect our g-grades..."

"And what, pray, is the problem? You did not get the grade you had hoped for?" he asked.

"He... he...." Harry began, looking at the two pieces of torn parchment in his hands.